the tension in her thin body the moment he had faced down Wardfelton, but she continued to feign unconsciousness. He didn’t blame her in the least, and it did suit his purpose of keeping crowd sympathy.
“Don’t come round yet,” he warned her in a whisper as he waited for the footman to close the door. “Your lady friends are sighing at the romance of it all. Add that to their relief that I’m no longer in the market for a bride and we two could become legend.”
“Thank you for a moment I shall never forget,” she whispered back. “Even should you dump me in the nearest ditch, I would still feel beholden. The look on his face was priceless. I peeked.”
He grunted in response as he shifted her more comfortably on his lap. “You are guaranteed more than a moment. Can you survive all this or do you plan to faint on me regularly?”
She shook her head. “No, it was merely the exercise. I’ve not danced in ages. Or eaten of late. Is there food where we’re going?”
Caine relaxed. “I believe we can find something.”
The carriage was well away from the crowd now. Grace sat up, moved off his lap and onto the opposite seat. She leaned forward and clasped her hands on her knees. “So we are going to your home now?”
“My uncle’s house here in Mayfair, where you’ll be properly chaperoned, as I promised.”
She nodded. “All right. This is no jest, is it? You truly were not in collusion with him.”
“With Wardfelton? You heard our exchange.”
With a heartfelt sigh, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Thank God.”
“I’ll send someone round for your things tomorrow,” he said. He reached up and started to shift the patch from his eye, then stopped himself.
“Oh, go ahead. The binding must be dreadfully uncomfortable,” she said with a flap of one hand. “My father was a doctor and I assisted with patients. I shan’t be shocked by an empty socket.”
Still he didn’t remove the patch. He merely studied her in the carriage light. “You seem a different sort from the lot I’ve known.”
“Truer than you could ever guess,” she admitted, then stifled a yawn with her hand.
“Are you ill, Grace?” he asked, then seemed to realize his impertinence. “Sorry. May I call you Grace in private?”
“Address me as you like. I suppose you have a given name?”
“Caine,” he replied, looking a trifle uncomfortable.
He had a strong face and very fine skin where it wasn’t scarred. His hair was rather too long, but a lovely shade of brown and with a slight wave to it.
She imagined he had been far too handsome for his own good before his injury. In fact, he was even now, though he would never believe it should anyone say as much. “How were you wounded?” she asked.
For a full moment, he remained silent and she thought he would refuse to answer. Then he did. “Artillery fire.” He gestured to his face. “A shell exploded nearby and I was struck by fragments. Killed my horse.”
“But you survived,” she said, fascinated and wishing he would tell more. “That’s the important thing.”
“So I thought at the time. Wouldn’t you like to lie down? I’ll make a pillow of my coat.” He began to take it off.
“No, don’t bother. Is it very far?”
He glanced out the window. “Almost there. How do you feel?”
“Exhausted, if you must know,” Grace admitted. “But I shan’t need a doctor. A good night’s rest should put me right. And food, as I said before. I’m famished.”
“Good God! Has he been starving you?” Caine demanded.
She laughed, giddy and a bit light-headed. “No. I’ve done it to myself.”
His worried expression said what tact prevented. He thought she was the mad one. And given her present situation, perhaps he was right.
Caine would not second-guess his choice. That was not his way. He made decisions and lived with them. If one proved wrong, he worked it to his advantage as best he could. Never vacillate, never look back on what might have been. And now he had chosen a wife. Granted, this decision had been made more impulsively than most any other in his life, but he would stand by it.
He would stand by her. For some uncanny reason, he felt an odd kinship with the little Lady Grace and had from the moment he had first seen her across the ballroom. Odd.
Trent had followed them home and stood in the foyer behind him as he introduced Grace to his uncle’s housekeeper, Mrs. Oliver. The older women curtsied even as she frowned at the newcomer. Caine could sense her disapproval, or perhaps it was only concern. The earl might mirror that when he met Grace, since she did not possess the appearance of a healthy breeder. No matter.
“Mrs. Oliver, could you arrange something to feed us?”
“The three of you, milord?”
“Yes, but nothing fancy. A simple tray in the breakfast room will do nicely. And a pot of strong tea for the lady.”
“Only brandy for me,” Trent supplied. He turned to Grace with a succinct bow. “I am Gavin Trent, friend of this nodcock you’re now attached to.”
“And his second this evening, so he tells me. Thank you for your assistance with the arrangements,” she said with a curtsy.
“My pleasure.”
“This way,” Caine said, ushering Grace down the corridor.
“A lovely residence,” Grace observed, sounding a bit breathless. “Your uncle is …?”
“Earl of Hadley.”
She turned to him. “And you are his—?”
“His heir. Yes, you will one day be a countess. I understand your father was an earl, so perhaps you won’t mind the station.” Caine hoped she wouldn’t faint again and took her arm in case she did.
“My goodness!” she exclaimed, her hand clutching her bodice. “Why me?”
Caine might not know much of women’s minds, but he certainly knew better than to be completely honest in this instance. “You looked positively regal standing there. I was quite smitten.”
She laughed out loud, a full-throated, joyful sound he hadn’t expected. It was contagious and he laughed with her. Trent shot him a frown and, obviously not amused, went straight for the brandy decanter when the butler appeared with it.
They sat at one end of the breakfast-room table, Grace on his right, Trent to the left. “So, here we are,” Trent said on a sigh as he poured a draft into three snifters. “What now?”
“Would you see about getting the license?”
